


Maybe.

by nowcanyousmile



Category: U-KISS
Genre: M/M, triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowcanyousmile/pseuds/nowcanyousmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe triggering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write something that’s entirely from Kiseop’s point of view and I somehow ended up writing yet another Elseop. It’s kind of weird but I really enjoy writing it so…

The thing about self harm is that it won’t go away. No matter how long you stay clean from it, no matter you have only tried it once, no matter how fine and content you are now, once the first cut was being left, the label of a cutter will never go away, ever. The label stuck with you for the rest of your life, so as the nightmare, the hurt, the pain. The scars will heal and fade, fade back into your heart. You can never like yourself, no matter how many now loves you. The thing about self harm is that it just happened- it’s just some blazer on your wrist, on your thighs, on your abdomen and you just fucked it up. Not everyone needs a reason to start this obsession and that’s why this is so fucked up, and that’s why it’s so addictive. It’s just a little scar on your skin, you never cut too deep, never deep enough to die, just enough to feel the liquid rushed out, the slightly dizziness due to the lost of blood always makes you feel a little more a wake, that burning sensation always reminds you of the things you fucked up and that you are still alive. It’s a strange obsession, it’s not healthy and it hurts, but that’s also your only friend. Not your only to be frank, you have your entire wardrobe that’s filled with long-sleeves and hoddies and the waistbands and bracelets of bands you don’t even like anymore. People don’t normally notice, not at the first sight at least. You are not that important or significant in any sense either way. Fake a smile, claiming that you are cold, you’re just tired, you’re just not feeling that well always work. You were content with your own shell while absolutely loathing the way you live and everything about yourself- it’s a path with no end, you just have to force yourself out of the bed, face life, deal with pain, cut a little, cry a lot and crossing your fingers hoping to die. You are too chicken to kill yourself. It’s ironic but you do die for a way out.

 

“Why did you do that? Why did you do that to yourself?”

The dance practice was finished long ago, you stayed behind to work on a few steps that you just couldn’t get it right. You have been sweating so much that you decided to took off your top. The view reflected in the mirror disgusted you, skin covered with scars and band-aids. You were about to go thought the entire routine one last time before leaving but a boy, roughly your age walked in the door. You immediately put your hoddie back on yet it was too late, He saw that, therefore he asked. You remembered that boy, Eli. The two of you are often practicing together yet never got the chance to speak. You were too shy and he’s just the type of guy that are naturally surrounded by gangs of friends. He asked the question again. You laughed it off, said something along the lines, hoping to push this person out of your life, hoping that he would just go away. You don’t need people poking their nose in your business – he’s just curious, just like everyone else. You open up and he’ll judge, he’ll just leave and stab you in the back like everyone else. You tried to push him away but you seemed to saw something you haven’t seen forever, something the others called care. He reached out for your wrist, you pulled your sleeves down. It’s just a dance practice, why did you took off that damn tee? The voice inside your head spoke, you knew you fucked up again. This is supposed to be our little secret, the voice screamed inside your head. This is supposed to be easy, salt-and-burn kind of easy, why did… Your thoughts were cut off by the boy in front of you. He took your arm and rolled your sleeves up carefully, the view was not pleasant. There were those pale scars that are fading, following by the long one you marked last time you got rejected by another company, inch or two upper was the few you cut last night, the wound are still fresh and faint blood stains can still be seen under the band-aids. He gently traced each and every scar, in such tender movement that you thought it was one of those hallucinations again.

“May I?”

You were shocked by the sudden request. You wasn’t listening, your mind was way too preoccupied by the plan of what you gonna do with your cold, sharp metal that night when you got home. One more practice session to go, shouldn’t be that hard to make it till home. He looked at you in eyes, that captivating almond eyes.

“May I?” He asked once again. He shifted himself inches closer, you watched how he gave you a small but warm smile, and you were patronized. He bend down a bit and began to kiss your battlefield. You are on a battle every single day with your own self, you were never good enough for parent, you were never out-standing enough in school, you are never the best dancer, you were never enough… and for once, you felt important, you felt you are somebody; and for once, you felt that you are alive, you are breathing without the painful sensation brought by your blazer. You focused on what you are feeling: soft, pump lips kissing against those what mark you. He was so focus that he didn’t notice how tears just flood out of the corner of your eyes. The practice room was in a complete silence, you looked into the mirrors and saw how tears keep falling from the corner of your eyes, you saw how he’s too concentrate on what he’s doing to notice. You tried so hard to compress your sobbing but you just can’t.

“You are beautiful.” He said, looking right into your eyes. His eyes are too crystal clear to be lying. You shook your head in disagreement. “No one ever mean that when they say that.”

“I mean it. I really mean it. You are so beautiful even you are with all these…” He paused, as if thinking about something too simple. “These battle scars. You are still yet to win this war, but all these blemish showed me how brave and strong you are- I can only imagine what it’s like to be sharing a body with your own enemy.”

“I am not strong…” You mumbled.

He pointed at the longest mark on your forearm and said, “You could have end your own life, but you didn’t. You chose to stay behind, you chose to stay with the chaos and sorrow, you chose to stay alive…”

You looked at him in disbelief, he gave you an encouraging smile. “I have faith in you, my little warrior. Win this war…”

“I can’t.” You broke down into a tearing mess, you hated yourself to be so weak, so fucked up, so pathtic.

“You can! I believe in you.” He said firmly, you suddenly felt guilty rushing in for not believing in yourself. You could have listen to that voice inside you tell you that you can’t, that you are going to disappoint another person, but the boy in front of you seemed to have a special charm, something that is luring you to try.

“I can’t. I don’t know how…” Self harming and all its side effect have been with you for so long, too long that your days depends on those cuts on you, too long that your happiness depends on your depression, too long that your life depends on your sadness.

“That’s easy. Look into a mirror and say “You are the prettiest princess in all the land”.”

“No,” You found yourself broking into laughter. He flashed a toothy grin, you couldn’t help but asked,” Did anyone said that you look like a pigeon?”

“Yup,” He replied proudly. “I believe that my ancients are pigeons”

The two of you sat on the floor and went on for hours, joking around, him doing silly animal impressions, and you telling him bits of your story- you were still frightened to open up entirely, until someone knocked and say that the dance studio have to be close. He accompany you home, realizing the two of you actually just leave a block away. He said something about getting breakfast together someday and you gave him your number. It wasn’t until you finished waved him goodbye, you realized your stomach hurt from all the laughter you had. It wasn’t until much later that you realize that was the only day you went to be without mental breaking down or cutting- you felt asleep while texting back and forth with him. Maybe it won’t be that hard, maybe I can win the battle, maybe I……

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, I managed to write this out :) I know this is different from what you (or myself) normally read but I saw people writing like this and I am eager to try lol and yes, I write this partly because of Jack Barakat- I’d always wanna write something relating or something that I can use this tweet:
> 
> @JackAllTimeLow:  
> sometimes you gotta look yourself in the mirror and say "You are the prettiest princess in all the land". I do it once a week


End file.
